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[i]"Elidthianis Hawke will fight Lucien Navietas."[/i]

A soft exhalation as Luen heard her false name called, and a vague thrill of fear and anticipation ran through her. [i][color=D0D4E5]I guess there's no going back now.[/color][/i] And, fittingly, she didn't look around, didn't look back. A few murmurs and stares went her way. Nothing horrible; just "who is that" and "Lord Asceron has a son?" and "why does he look like that?" Her paper-white skin prickled at the stares, and nerves began to dig fishhooks into her skin. She took a deep breath as she moved, then another, and another, arriving in short order at the quartermaster's table.

She barely gave the wooden weapons arrayed in front of her a second glance, instead shrugging up her sleeves and holding her slender, rune-scored bracers out for observation.

"[color=D0D4E5]I fight entirely with Incantations.[/color]"

At the man's confused stare, she glanced around to make sure her opponent wasn't watching, then realized she didn't actually know what he looked like to begin with and flicked her dominant left hand. One of the lines of runes lit up with a sudden pale blue light, and with a sound like a rushing stream, the mist around her thinned as it rushed towards her palm. A bit less than a second later, a totally transparent knife--like glass--coalesced into her palm.

The quartermaster's eyebrows shot up for a moment as he looked on--it was a somewhat unusual Incantation, she reflected--but a moment later he was all business. "Is it safe?"

By way of answer, she flipped artfully it in her hand, then slapped the edge down on her right hand. Where it impacted, it bounced with a dull [i]thunk,[/i] though she did wince a touch at the impact. Then she placed it upon an empty space on the table, sliding it gently over for him to check for himself. "[color=D0D4E5]Perfectly safe. Nobody's going to be hurt.[/color]"

He tested the edge, tested the dulled point, and evidently found it to his satisfaction, as he gave a quick nod. As he dropped it back down to the table, he made eye contact, though it only lasted for a few seconds before his eyes awkwardly slid away from hers and the muscles of her face tensed. 

"Passes muster. It's allowed." She gave him a small smile in an attempt to look completely un-threatening. There was no response, and she gave an infinitesimal sigh. Taking the knife, she tossed it unceremoniously to the ground, where, with no wrist-flick this time, she dispelled it and let it fall into a small puddle.

The nerves gnawed at her gut still as she walked deliberately up the steps to the arena, then headed to the designated segment, breathing deeply as she went. People fought around her, though everything seemed...a bit muted. This fight would decide everything. Would determine whether she became a knight, or retreated back to her home with her tail between her legs in humiliation and ignominy.

[i][color=D0D4E5]Still,[/color][/i] she thought, [i][color=D0D4E5]I'm not bad at this. I think I have a fair shot.[/color][/i]

[i][color=D0D4E5]At the very least, I'll put up a decent fight.[/color][/i]